


Washing Machine Heart

by a_hand_outstretched



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Depression, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Phone Sex, Sexual Dysfunction, and a spoonful of teenage kenstew flashback because I can't resist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28038924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_hand_outstretched/pseuds/a_hand_outstretched
Summary: He types out a message, deletes it, retypes it, deletes it, feels unbearably stupid, retypes it again and immediately hits send. “If you’re alone, maybe we could talk?” He quickly sends another to clarify. “Not business.”
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	Washing Machine Heart

_Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart  
Baby, bang it up inside_  
_Baby, though I've closed my eyes  
I know who you pretend I am _

  
  


Kendall lies on his couch in the dark. He’s been here since he got back from his father’s house around six, not bothering to move as the sun set. He’s half dressed, drinking but not drunk, fingers lingering on the neck of the bottle that sits on the floor. He’s too exhausted even for that, forget the comfort of strangers’ bodies packed around him. Maybe he was sober too long, maybe it’s the depression, maybe he’s just getting old. He doesn’t have the stamina for partying like he used to, like he wants to. And anyway, Greg’s not answering his texts, the ungrateful little shit. 

His phone rests flat on his chest. He picks it up and weighs it in his hand. For the last hour or so his mind has been stuck on that night in the restaurant with Sandy and Stewy. He plays it through, as numb to the feeling of it now as he was then, until that line, _there’s a human thing standing in front of you. You can talk to me. We had the whole world —_ Stop, rewind, playback. _There’s a human thing standing in front of you._ Kendall doesn’t feel like a human thing anymore. He’s an empty thing, a nothing thing, maybe human-shaped but only barely. 

He suspects he’d just be horny if his dick worked better these days, and that might help. But it doesn’t and he isn’t. So he’s left lying here with this fucking… _ache_ in him. Like an echo in a canyon, something but nothing at the same time. And maybe that’s why he’s stuck on that line, because all echoes start somewhere, right? With a scream that loses its substance as it bounces back and forth, further and further away. Stewy had to go and do that, shout humanity into the void inside him, and now that emotion is reverberating in his chest with no way out. _There’s a human thing standing in front of you._

He types out a message, deletes it, retypes it, deletes it, feels unbearably stupid, retypes it again and immediately hits send. “If you’re alone, maybe we could talk?” He quickly sends another to clarify. “Not business.”

He waits. Long enough that he sets the phone back down. He stares at the ceiling, never doubting that some response would come but unsure what to expect. The phone finally vibrates against him and he picks it up. A paragraph’s worth of eye roll emojis. Another wait, but this time he keeps his eyes on the screen until the next message pops up. Peach emoji question mark. He smiles faintly and doesn’t hesitate before hitting the call button. 

Stewy answers, sarcastic, like Kendall’s already wasting his time. “I’m flattered, but I can't be the only well-endowed man in Manhattan.” 

Kendall chuckles. “Maybe I want you for your personality.” 

“You’re too lazy to come over? I’m in the city tonight, you know.” 

“You really think that’s a good idea?” 

“Nothing about you is a good idea. So I’ve fucking learned. This never happened, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” 

Stewy hums and there’s some rustling on his end of the phone, like maybe he’s sitting down. He says, ironically, “So, what are you wearing?” 

“Fuck off.” 

Stewy laughs, genuinely, and Kendall realizes he’s missed the sound of it. “I’m trying. Are you hard already? All wet for me, you fucking girl?” Stewy asks. He always liked that about Kendall. Teased him about it lightly, but never made him feel like a freak for being so sensitive even to casual touch, always leaking before Stewy could so much as unzip his fly. He slides a hand below his waistband to give his soft cock an ironic squeeze. 

“Yeah. You know I am,” Kendall lies. He rests his hand on his abdomen. “How do you want me?” 

“For the record, I don't want you. But since you're offering... Get undressed and stand in front of a mirror.” 

“Ugh.” Kendall can’t even pretend to be into that. 

“What?” 

“It's just _—_ I'd rather see you, not me.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, your majesty. You’re the one who won’t come over. Where are you now?” 

“Couch. Sweats, no shirt.” 

“Fine. Lie flat. Tilt your head back so I can watch as I fuck your throat.” 

Kendall adjusts himself so his head is dropping over the arm of the couch. His voice comes out somewhat hoarsely. “Fuck. You know how deep I can take it like this.” 

He hears Stewy’s breath catch at that. It takes him a moment to respond. “You have anything with you? Toys?” 

“Just my fingers.” 

“Shit, are you trying to make this as boring as possible?” 

“I have lube,” he offers, even though he doesn’t. He touches his throat, runs his fingers along the length of it. The touch is sterile. He thinks about Stewy’s warm, blunt, clean fingers, and it slips out, “I wish I had your hands.” 

“Put your fingers in your mouth and suck on them for me.” 

“Okay.” It’s already hard to breathe and talk with his head tilted back at an angle, and he promptly shoves three fingers far enough in his mouth that he chokes himself. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine it’s Stewy his lips are stretched around and only partially succeeds. 

“Fuck, Ken. Good. I can hear you.” Kendall decides to play it up, moans a little around his fingers. “Take them out. Better now? Huh? Warm and wet.” 

Kendall pulls his hand away and gasps. “Yeah. Better.” 

“Put me on speaker,” Stewy says. Kendall does so, sets the phone on his chest again. “Remember how we used to do it?” he asks. “Way back?” 

A chill runs through Kendall, something like dread. “Uh-huh.” 

“Stay on your back. Lube up. Put your right hand on your cock. Left between your legs. Keep them tight together.” 

Kendall ignores his still-uninterested dick and wraps a hand around his inner thigh. The skin there is soft. Stupid soft, like it’s missed the last few decades of his life. He regrets not going to the mirror and going along with whatever Stewy’s initial plan was. He was ready to listen to him talk through some hate sex fantasy, how he wanted to use him and wreck him and whatever the fuck else he deserves. Kendall wasn’t expecting this, something so inseparable from sentiment. He can’t even process the words coming out of Stewy’s mouth anymore. 

He closes his eyes in the dark and he can see the afternoon sun. He remembers the rust-red couch they used to sit on after school at Stewy’s house, in the basement, was it? Or, no, there was all that sunlight, so it must have been some out-of-the-way den. They were idiot teenagers, but not dumb enough to fuck around in the main living room. That was his favorite place in the entire fucking world and maybe it still is, even though he hasn't been there since they sold that house twenty-odd years ago. Stewy’s home had always felt warmer, more comfortable than his own, and that place where they tucked themselves away might as well have been their own personal universe. 

But even there, even with Stewy, he made everything difficult for himself and therefore the both of them, anxious about even the most tentative, fully-clothed touch. It didn’t matter which of them had taken the initiative, it was always Stewy coaxing him through it with that voice. Soft, but persistent, as their belts clanked against each other where their pants were pulled down around their knees. An abandoned Playstation controller tangled around Kendall’s left ankle somehow. Stewy over him, hands hot on his hips. This was one time, but it was every time. Look at me. Are you alright? It’s just me, Ken. It's fine. Are you okay? Are you happy? Try it like this. Do you like that? What do you want? You can talk to me. You can tell me. You can tell me. You can tell me. You can tell me. 

Kendall keeps his hand squeezed between his thighs. He curls up and rolls onto his side, forgetting about the phone and letting it fall into the couch cushion. He lets out a choked off sob of... is it frustration? He doesn’t want to think too hard about it. Whatever it was, it fucking worked for Stewy, apparently. He groans. “Fuck, dude. Ugh.” They lapse into silence and Kendall switches the phone off speaker, holds it tightly against his ear with his forehead pushed against the couch. 

“That was nice,” he says, automatically, without inflection, and he knows Stewy will smell bullshit, but hopefully he won’t care enough to ask questions. 

“Nice.” Stewy snorts. “Fuck you. Maybe I recorded this.” 

Kendall laughs, but it’s not funny at all. “Thanks for the heads up. Should I, uh, send some pics for your blackmail files?” 

“Seriously, don’t call me again, Ken. We can’t fuck around like this.”

“Uh-huh. Well. Don’t worry about it.” 

He hangs up without a goodbye. He settles back flat against the couch. He mouths the words, _there’s a human thing standing in front of you_ , and feels the rhythm of them thrum steadily in his chest. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title/lyrics from a Mitski song.


End file.
